Page 77 of From Hell

“The police—”

“Know jack shit,” he scoffs. “I’m talking about the Lucians and my father. I’ve been protecting you from them.”

I blink at him, my chest tight, nerves jagged at the ends. My mind struggles to comprehend what he’s saying, but my thoughts are jumbled, tipped on their head. It reminds me of the part in the Little Red Riding Hood story when the wolf convinces her that he’s her grandma.

I clench my jaw, forcing a smile. “Thank you.” Because when a murderer says he’s on your side, that’s what you say, especially when you’re in his house, drinking his whiskey, wearing his clothes.

Jaxon comes closer and gently palms my neck, pulling me to him with a sigh, tracing his thumb over my scar. I try not to flinch, not to jerk away. “It was my pleasure,” he drawls, resting his forehead on mine.

“Jax—”

“You know”—he breathes in the scent of my skin—“I can help you catch your next victims. Carve them until they’re nothing but a pulp of blood and bones at your feet.” The words roll over me, through me, like soft, dangerous strokes.

“My next victims?” The question stumbles out of my lips, as do unexpected stirrings. Fear in the distance spikes, but my mind is muddy, clouded. I’m also drenched in desire, dueling emotions at odds with one another. My brain struggles to comprehend as I try to keep hold of myself.

“The other two men pinned to your board,” he soothes, breath hot on my neck. “The tacky one you have in your house. Three of the photos are crossed out. Two are left. You should burn that, by the way. If anyone sees it, you’re fucked.”

I close my eyes as his lips graze the soft shell of my ear. “No one is supposed to see it. That room is locked,” I mumble.

“Burn it. I’ll help you.” His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me close. The length of his body presses against mine, lighting me up inside like a bonfire.

I should burn it. I’ve stared at it long enough to see it in my dreams. The last two men tacked onto it are next on my list to take out—Christian De Lacy and Addison Cochrane. They were both there that night. I saw them rape Molly. They are as much to blame for her death as the others because, well…she must be dead. Christian, the coward from the other night, would be next, while Addison, I was saving till last.

In truth, the Ripper would be my final kill. He, out of all of them, scares me the most. He’s the only one I don’t know. Though his voice and his hands on me in the darkness, I’ll never forget. He will be the hardest, I’m sure.

Maybe Jaxoncanhelp me. Although, he doesn’t know I’m stalking the Ripper. He thinks my list stops at the four on the board. It doesn’t.

Even if he only helps me with Chrisian and Addison, he could be just what I need, but Nola’s caution about not trusting anyone but myself is still very much at the forefront of my mind. We swore not to bring outsiders in without agreement from each other. If I do it without telling them, it negates my pact with the girls.

Does he know about my friends? He met Nola at the Foundation Ball, and he undoubtedly can guess she’s involved. It’s better if he doesn’t. The less I say about Nola and Sage, the better. And vice versa. They can’t know about Jaxon.

Oh, dear God, I’m actually considering this.

“I call the shots.” I form my words carefully.

His grip tightens on the nape of my neck, and he laughs softly. “That’s not how this works.”

“Then…we’re done here.” I go to push him off me, but he drags me back to him and pins me between his solid mass and the counter.

I react. I don’t even think; I point the gun at his chest.

Jaxon has trapped me, but the corner of his mouth twitches as he looks at the gun and then back at me, his languid eyes dark, bottomless pools I could drown in. “You still don’t trust me.”

“It will take more than covering up a crime scene.” I force a tight smile despite my hand shaking so much that the gun’s muzzle slips.

“What will it take?” His voice is dark velvet as his hands slide down my body to the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms. His smile taunts me enough to make my toes curl as his mouth crashes onto mine.

I’m not expecting it. Jaxon has never kissed me before.

The gun digs into his chest, but he assaults my mouth regardless. He devours me into submission. Tongue sliding inside, wet and hot. Teeth scraping my lower lip, bruising it to hell. It’s sweet and bitter, teasing and soft—gentle. But then it evolves, rough, deep, penetrating, like a storm brewing. Jaxon is something to cling to as the kiss takes away everything I am and destroys it. It’s his hands gripping the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms like he wants to rip them off, the gun pinched between us, the rise and fall of our breaths, the molten heat burning in the base of my belly.

He slides off the bottoms. As his hands glide down, so does he, breaking the kiss until his face is level with my thighs. He yanks me close, pulling me against his mouth, kissing me through the soaking wet lace. “Let me taste you again, little fox.”

Shamefully, I do it without question as he slips my panties aside. As he licks and sucks, pleasure becomes a knife, slicing me apart. Every plunge of his tongue has me gasping. Every tease of my ass has me grinding against him until I forget the gun I’m holding. It clatters to the floor, the noise of it loud, jolting me back together.

“No.” I push him away, feeling colder without him covering every inch of me.

He gets to his feet, eyes glowing with the challenge, lips red and wet. “You weren’t complaining yesterday.”